


Dream of Hope

by ItsAutumnHereFriend



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Geralt likes youu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22652716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsAutumnHereFriend/pseuds/ItsAutumnHereFriend
Summary: Dreams are illusory. They kick and prod and make you wake disoriented with a false hope that only lasts as long as happiness does. For once, Geralt brings himself to hope; and giving it a name will always grant unheeded power.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & You, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	Dream of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on Tumblr at itsautumnherefriend.

"Geralt, I worry for you," Jaskier looks pensive. Though his scrunched face makes up for the trembling plucks of his fingers on his lute. 

Geralt sighs, trying to cover a scoff. "Won't sing a song of this, bard?" 

Jaskier purses his lips. "It's a rather lovely melody. Though I think I've heard it somewhere before…"

Geralt scoffs, petting Roach one last time before lying next to the fire. "Stealing, now? You've changed." 

Jaskier gasps. "I'd  _ never! _ That deserves a punishment worse than death!" 

"I'll see you hanged tomorrow, then." 

The witcher turns his back on Jaskier, who is mumbling obscenities under his breath. 

He hears the shuffling, the fire extinguishing before a smell that should be foreign wafts in the air. He closes his eyes despite it. Tries to pretend his shoulders aren't relaxing, his breathing falling into a steadier rhythm. Tries to pretend his thoughts are far prettier than the smell inticing him into a trance. 

Geralt's brows furrow as the scent of earth and lillies distract the thoughts that would have otherwise kept him awake. He hates how routinely this feels. 

How long had it been since he last fell asleep? How long had it been since he hadn't woken up fitful and sweating--oh the dread of Jaskier complaining about his overwhelming  _ stench _ even though he's bathed the day before.

Now when was the last time the bard had complained of it?

He breathes deeply. The smell lures him away, far from the thoughts that plague him, and into a dream so familiar it hurts. Hurts more than the bouts of thoughts that keep him from rest.

Yet it's a dream that makes his heart clench despite the pain--or is it the pain that makes his heart  _ feel? _

Dwelling on the thought pays no result. Only a step back, and you stand there rooted, staring at the spot you originally were at. 

"Geralt?"

Staring. Staring. Staring. 

"Geralt!" 

Laughter blooms into the fields, and all about him colour and form sweep his peripherals. Flowers that sing praises to the sun, grass so green it nearly hurts his eyes, and you. Looking at him--afraid? A call for help? Afraid of  _ him? _ \--did he want you to be afraid? 

You look at him, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with a smile. 

A step back. Staring. Rooted. Did he want that? 

If he stares too long, he's afraid he might get lost and never wake to a world that needs him. 

" _ But hates you! _ " You would say, playing with the grass beside you. Geralt wouldn't say anything at that. It's what he was made for,  _ created _ for. Learn to live with them so that I could live. " _ You can stay here for as long as  _ you _ need. It'll always be here for you. _ "

He sees you pat the ground beside you, urging him to sit. Practiced. Routine. 

While he sits, he can't help but let the familiarity of the place run deep within him, nearly losing his gait and giving it a name-- _ home _ \--but merely a slip of the tongue. 

It has to be. 

…Did he want that? 

You thumb at the petals in your lap, speaking softly about the setting sun as if it could hear; as if it could do more than give warmth. With the way you're speaking, he's almost convinced that it can.

"Am I merely background music to your ears?" You huff, though you can't stop the beginnings of a smile even if you cared to.

He startles, staring back at you. "Music I seem to get lost in."

Chuckling, you shake your head. "How about a trade then? Music and stories."

"It's often said music and stories are one."

You roll your eyes, leaning back to rest on a tree. "Then will you sing to me too?"

Geralt scoffs at that. Mindlessly, he places his hand near yours and leans back. Practiced. Nearly touching but not quite. Somehow he can feel his fingers numbing, itching to clear the distance. 

All he does is grunt. But you laugh. And for all of what matters, Geralt would rather be here to hear such music. 

If he had a choice. 

"You smell of a trifling disaster. Tell me about it?" When you smile like that, Geralt's almost afraid to say no. As if declining you would make his heart burst. He'd long burrowed vulnerability under the stronghold of Kaer Morhen, and it frightens him that he'd let the touch of death caress his soul than to see you--

His breath pauses, words stumbling to a halt. You call his name, but he can't hear, he can't feel. This  _ dream _ muddles him, makes him vulnerable, and he can't.  _ He can't, he can't, he can't _ \--

_ Just say _ \--

He reaches out to you, to  _ feel.  _

He reaches out to you--did he want that?

His hand flits through nothing, fingers dangling on air. 

Did he want that?

  
  
  
  


His breathing doesn't go wild. He doesn't wake to a series of nightmares still glued to the back of his eyelids. Doesn't feel the cold of a nightmare pressing down on him. 

He feels warmth. Warm and yet there is a heaviness in his chest, pressing and worming into his--his what? 

It inches into him, and all he can feel is a longing. Though he doesn't dare name it. 

Instead he lets his mind wander to you. A haze of a dream veiling you in an illusion--except that wasn't it. Dreams have a funny way of turning thought into wispy memory. A memory that never truly existed. 

How long has he had this dream? More and more, he can see you clearly. 

It had been an odd blessing. Finally he wakes well rested. Finally he could rest his eyes without the haunt of a nightmare plaguing his dreams.

Something had called out to him. It had followed him--or had he followed it?--and it led to you, sitting in a forest, looking at him, eyes wide.

He could feel her fright. Yet it disappeared, leaving for warmth to take its place. 

Contracts don't usually come to him in a dream, but you had followed him, asking for him. 

Or were  _ he _ the one calling out for…  _ Something. _ He doesn't want to name it. 

After all, words carry their weight. And maybe he was afraid of having to deal with his own, rather than someone else's.

  
  
  
  


Humming. All he hears is that damned  _ song _ . Although he can kick and prod at Jaskier to get him to  _ shut up _ , there's a startling nostalgia that the song brings. 

Even more reason to make the bard stop.

Geralt was sure that the tavern would make him change his mind and sing the song he's most famous for, which is as equally annoying as the previous, but what surprises him is Jaskier bounding towards him and pulling him along before he could get Roach fully set up. 

"Stay!" He calls out to her, and she neighs and stomps her hoof. 

"She'll be a good little girl, now come on, Geralt!" Jaskier pulls him with surprising strength.

"Jaskier, I refuse to meddle with your-" 

"It's not that! Just come! You'll- you- you  _ need _ this." And although Geralt can't see, Jaskier's expression turns pensive, but then he hums. Hums that damned song even louder, bordering on crazy. 

The townsfolk are staring at them widely. Whispering to themselves and throwing jests at the pair.

"Will you stop that?" Geralt hisses. Though he lets Jaskier lead him in a flurry. 

He doesn't stop his humming for a while, but he softens all the same. "You don't- you don't know it?" 

"With you humming it for a goddamn eternity? I wish I  _ didn't _ ."

Jaskier stutters, tripping and pulling Geralt along to follow his fall. " _ You're _ the one who's been humming it, Geralt."

"What?"

"When you wake, you hum it. You don't stop until I say something."

Jaskier halts near the entrance of the woods. A farm sitting peacefully next to it. 

It's not Jaskier's pause that roots him into place. He can hear it. That song that Jaskier constantly hums, trying to place words to it. 

Except the singing doesn't hesitate to puzzle the lyrics together. It rings out into the open, and briefly he wonders how Jaskier could have known the tune before promptly following the singing. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier huffs. "Oh. You didn't want to come but now look at you! Hulking off like a- a beast!" 

But Jaskier doesn't follow. He turns to the house, letting the family know that a witcher is most likely in their barn and no, he won't be doing anything strange! 

He hopes. 

  
  
  
  


Just as the singing becomes vibrant in his ears, it stops. Geralt swerves around, looking for the owner. But when he turns, he sees a figure a little ways in front of him. 

Your smile is as clear and bright as it is in his dreams. He can finally hear your heartbeat pitter-pattering away, can see the way your fingers curl around the flowers in your arms. He can see the warmth never fading from your eyes. 

His heart seizes at the sight of you.

He wills his tongue to move, to say something. All he can do is stare. 

"Cat got your tongue, Geralt?" You stop so close to him, and for a long moment he's too afraid to breathe. 

"I-" 

He reaches his hand out, inching closer to fill the distance, but hesitates. 

Will you disappear like you do in his dreams? 

Did he want that? 

"I missed you," he finishes. 

You meet him halfway, fingers curling and intertwining in his. 

"How can you miss a person you've never met before?" 

His lips twitch into a small smile. "Sometimes dreams are more real than one would think."

Geralt pulls you closer, resting his forehead on yours. 

"I told you, it'll always be here for you."

He hums. "Did you mean yourself?" 

"It means whatever you want it to mean," you tease. 

Geralt brings a hand to rest on your cheek, quiet. Trying to find the words he wants to say. But you lean into his touch and smile at him. 

"I didn't bring these for nothing," and you crinkle the flowers in your arms enough for him to notice. "They're for you, silly." You say at his blank expression. 

"Trying to butter me up, huh?" Is all he can make himself say. He's rather glad he does because it makes you laugh. The same one you grant him in his dreams, the same one that brings about some nostalgia he can't quite place. 

He accepts the bouquet. Briefly, he wonders what song this will bring. Jaskier is sure to run his mouth about the witcher receiving flowers from a damsel. 

Geralt can't bring himself to care. Not when he's finally allowed to touch you without him waking up, finding you gone.

You're more than real, and for once Geralt's glad his dreams had brought him to you--he'll let himself name it this time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let Geralt be happy you cowards.
> 
> Come say hi!  
> Tumblr: itsautumnherefriend


End file.
